


Where it all began

by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror



Series: Disaster Management [1]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Endeavour Morse Whump, Episode: s01e02 Fugue, Human Disaster Endeavour Morse, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24338116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror/pseuds/Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror
Summary: Missing scene from Fugue where Fred gets a call from Strange. (Introductory work to the disaster management series)
Series: Disaster Management [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757095
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	Where it all began

Thank the lord for Win, Fred thought idly, leaning back into the soft comforts of the sofa as she handed him a generous whisky. Neat, just how he likes it. Just how she knows he likes it.

“Thanks pet.” Thursday murmured, putting the glass to his lips, and taking in the rich aroma as he drank.

Setting the glass down he looked over to his wife, perched on the opposite settee. “Everything alright?” she questioned. After almost 25 years being married to a policeman she knew better to ask if he’s had a good day. They were rare to come by when the job entails such violence.

“Fine, just a long day is all. Nothing a good sleep can’t mend.” He responds simply. Not letting onto his overwhelming concern after discovering Morse had caught the eye of a man capable of such evil. He did is best to push the thoughts of losing another bagman to the back of his mind. Not that it was working.

She smiles and puts a hand on his shoulder, “well, let me know if there’s anything I can get you” she says, disappearing back into the kitchen.

He could the smell the dumplings cooking. It was moments like this he didn’t know what he’d do without his family. How he’d cope if he had no one to come home to, to wash the memories away.

The phone rang, snapping Fred out his thoughts. He craned his neck to see Win answering in the hallway before meeting his eyes, “for you”.

Fred rose and took the few short strides into the hall as Win handed him the phone. “Thursday.”

“Sir, this is PC Strange. I’ve been told to inform you DC Morse has been taken to Cowley General.” The PC tried to speak as calmly as possible, but it didn’t hide how shaken he seemed.

“What? When? What happened?” Fred blurted out, catching Wins worried look. Surely the madman hadn’t got his hands on Morse already?

“He was stabbed pursuing a suspect under the Bodleian, Sir. He should be at the hospital now. He was conscious when the ambulance came, it’s not too serious the paramedics said.” He paused, trying to gage the tension, “I’m going that way now, if you’d like a lift.”

Fred blinked, taking it all in, he had only left the boy an hour ago, how did he manage to get in such states? “thank you, constable, I’ll be outside.” he replied, quickly putting the phone down.

He looked to Win again, hoping she could anchor him from overthinking all the horrid scenarios. “It’s Morse, there’s been an accident. I need to go to the hospital.” He explains.

Win inhales and steps into Fred, folding him into a tight hug. “will he be alright? does he need anything?”

“I’m sure he’s fine, love, I just want to check on him.” He replies, putting on his winter coat and hat. Wins natural mothering warms him. He wished Morse could see how much she cared. How much they both did, even after such a short amount of time.

“I’ll leave your dinner in the stove.” She smiles empathetically, watching her husband leave.

* * *

Casualty was a mess, it seemed overwhelmed with nurses and patients scurrying around everywhere. “Road accident.” Strange said, reading his mind, “I need to start taking statements if that’s alright, Sir.”

Thursday nods, looking for the reception as Strange wanders off. “DCI Thursday, there was a DC Morse admitted here about 30 minutes ago.” He explains, looking at the swamped receptionist.

“DC you say?” a nurse asks from behind.

Thursday turns and nods.

“Sent down to pathology I believe. Just that way.” The nurse puts simply, pointing him in the too familiar directions to the morgue.

Thursday caught his breath. Why on earth was the nurse telling him to go to the morgue? He couldn’t be... Thursday couldn’t fathom the thought. The PC said he was fine; this couldn’t be happening. 

He wanted to yell. Wanted to storm over and give her a dressing down for being so inconsiderate, but he couldn’t form the words. How she could just brush off that the man under his protection was dead.

He let the muscle memory in his legs take him to pathology. Unable to compose a single coherent thought. Had he learnt nothing from Mickey Carter? He’d hardly had Morse two months. He couldn’t do this again. Couldn’t live with the guilt that would consume him.

He opens the door to DeBryn leaning over Morse’s still form. How could he do it? The doctor seemed so unphased by his co-worker and friend on a slab. Morse’s shirt had been taken off, leaving his pale freckled arms exposed and his blood-stained undershirt on show.

He couldn’t bear to take another step. Couldn’t look down at the man he swore he’d protect, unmoving.

But then he moved.

His breath hitched as his bagman’s arm rose to grip the doctors forearm.

“For goodness sakes man, this needs morphine, I don’t know what you’re thinking.” DeBryn exclaims, batting his hand away. He looks up, catching sight of Thursday.

“Ah, Thursday, maybe you’ll have more success talking some sense into your DC than I have.”

Fred starts forward, seeing Morse watching him move closer. “Sir? I dropped you home?” Morse frowns.

Fred exhales, those piercing – alive – blue eyes will be etched into his memory forever. Relief started to merge into annoyance. “What the hell do you think you’re doing down here? Morgues are for the dead you bloody idiot.”

“Sir, I – Ah!” Morse’s face contorted in pain as DeBryn seized the opportunity to continue stitching.

“I take responsibility for that, inspector.” DeBryn explains without looking up from Morse’s side. “Casualty was backed up for one reason or another and I’m perfectly capable of a few stitches.”

Thursday allowed his frustration to dissipate. “What the hell were you thinking going after a madman by yourself?” He and Morse were going to have to have serious words about going after maniacs unarmed and alone.

“In my defence, sir, I wasn’t expecting him to actually be there.” He says raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. His eyes are clamped shut and breathing heavily as he tries not to focus on the needle in his side.

“Right. Well, I’m going back to the nick, see if we can’t chase him down. Take it easy.” He adds casually, not letting on to the fact he had to swallow his heart from his throat at the thought of burying another bagman. Damn Morse for worrying him so much. Damn that nurse who didn’t think to mention that Morse was, in fact, very alive.

Fred left the hospital in the reassuring knowledge Morse was alright and stubborn as ever.

Little did Fred know how much a disaster magnet Morse would become.


End file.
